


To Talk

by vega_voices



Series: Sleeps with Butterflies [38]
Category: CSI, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She had no logical reason to avoid his calls, but despite the ten point conversation in her head, logic wasn’t controlling her right now. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Talk

**Title:** To Talk  
 **Series:** [Sleeps with Butterflies](http://vega-voices.livejournal.com/tag/sleeps%20with%20butterflies)  
 **Author:** vegawriters  
 **Fandom:** CSI:  
 **Pairing:** Grissom/Sara  
 **Rating:** Teen  
 **Timeframe/Spoilers:** Season 13; Pre-Ep fic for _Dead Air_ (presumably). Based on this clip [posted to EW and JFO](http://insidetv.ew.com/2013/01/15/csi-gil-grissom-comes-a-calling-sort-of-exclusive-video/).  
 **A/N:** Somewhere in LA, the CSI writers are sitting back, drinking beer, smoking the good crack, and cackling like evil Davy Hodges from You Kill Me while they watch the Grissom/Sara fanbase meltdown over a 30 second clip that tells us only that Sara and Grissom remain in a rough place and that Sara’s scared to talk about it. They’re hoping we’re going to forget that in just a couple of episodes, Sara is about to end up being accused of things she didn’t do and her mother is going to show up and they won’t really have her marriage falling apart at the same time … (we hope). Well played, jerks. Well played.  
 **Disclaimer:** I don’t own, don’t claim to own, although I wish I could have a hand in writing them. Seriously. Please don’t sue me. Hire me instead.

 **Summary:** _She had no logical reason to avoid his calls, but despite the ten point conversation in her head, logic wasn’t controlling her right now._

_I want to make this work so much it hurts …  
From Martina McBride’s “How Far”_

Sara’s footsteps felt loud, despite the rubber soles of her boots absorbing any impact. The rustle of her coat against her body, the way her hair fell against her shoulders. Everything echoed. From the slam of the locker to the noise of her phone, it echoed around her, creating a nervous cacophony that set her teeth on edge and drained her even more. She was exhausted and really, there was no end in sight on this case, or any of her cases. The layout room, her safe haven, was loud and felt brighter than usual but if she went home, she’d cease to function. So instead she fell into security blanket patterns, working her way through the pain and the fear. She’d sleep later. Always later.

Despite the evidence in front of her, it was Gil’s “We need to talk” voicemail that echoed in her head. She was a woman of fact, not supposition, and so her logical mind kept running through the things they had to talk about, trying to keep her emotional self at bay.

One: he was still choosing a life overseas over a life with her. She was starting to take it personally.

Two: reality was that given the way taxes worked, he needed to either spend a good chunk of time in the States or just consider himself an ex-pat. She’d sell the house and join him because part of the reason he couldn’t stay extended periods of time were how the tax laws governed people who made their money abroad.

Three: her endometriosis couldn’t be ignored for much longer. She had to make a choice between attempting a course of treatment that would most likely fail or having the hysterectomy.

Four: the research grant was still hanging out there.

Five: Doug. Nothing had happened, but she still felt guilty. Gil knew about Doug’s time in Vegas but he didn’t know just how close she’d been to accepting the dinner offer that could have turned into so much more.

Six: what did they really want out of this marriage? They were supposed to be partners, but partners in work, not just in life. He had the dig. She had CSI. It wasn’t what they’d expected. The long distance thing had initially been set to be temporary.

Seven: the fact that only divine intervention would give them children. It was a different conversation than the endometriosis. They had to really mourn the end of a dream. She was wallowing. He … she had no idea what he was doing.

Eight: the child they did have, Hank, was aging. Boxers needed more care the older they got. Sara didn’t mind in the least, but eventually they would have to make some tough decisions.

Nine: he had asked her to help him compile research. For a few minutes, he’d remembered that they were partners in more than financial decisions and health care costs. But, the research he wanted her to comb through was a mess of his rather exacting notes. He’d left a pile for her but she had no idea where to start and it was going to be a very long conversation to have over the phone. Why couldn’t they have done it when he was in town last?

Ten: was it so wrong to want to know when he next planned to put his arms around her?

Her logical brain told her that nothing in their lives signaled an impending end to their marriage, but despite seeing him in Peru over Christmas and him coming to visit just a week later so they could handle some of the research grant process together, there was a sinking pit in the bottom of her stomach. For all the sex they’d had and the comfortable silences they’d shared, there was still a gap. Still a distance. She knew he was bothered by Doug and the fact that she’d been honest about her attraction to him. He knew she felt like she’d been replaced by pupae casings and pretty blonde research assistants.

But knowledge hadn’t led to resolutions or even actions. They made love and they talked about the nothings of the day, but the elephant remained in the room and the more she thought about it, the more she was terrified that talking to him would only end in her tears. So she dodged. It was artful dodging. Always with a text after his call. She was working. She’d been in the shower. She was asleep and missed the call. At least the work one wasn’t a lie. And she hated lying to him, but she couldn’t hear the words, not now.

Because, what if it was over? What if he was tired of it? What if he really did love his research more than their relationship? Maybe she’d been right, all those years ago, to leave when he couldn’t make a decision about what was more important to him – the lab or her.

But _he’d_ been the one to track her down in Costa Rica and _he’d_ been the one to open up those lines of communication. _He’d_ been the one to wake up and realize things needed to change for both of them. She’d given him the space he needed to do his research and she’d happily taken up the mantle of keeping the home fires burning. Living overseas wasn’t easy. There were taxes to pay and they still had a mortgage here in Vegas and by having one of them in the states, it made travel overall easier. She loved their home. But she loved it more with him in it. It was a new year. There was no reason he couldn’t come back and stay. He didn’t seem all that opposed to the concept, but the functionality was the issue. He was always getting called back at the last minute. Someone always needed him more than she did.

So, she was scared. She was scared because he had that tired tone in his voice, the one he’d used when he was talking about how sometimes a relationship in stasis withered and as much as she hated to admit it, they were withering. What, was he calling to tell her she could keep the house and the divorce would be simple? They were both financially secure and it wasn’t like she’d even changed her name.

Stomach twisting, Sara hung evidence on the walls of the layout room. If she could work, she could ignore the voices in her head telling her that everything was over. That somehow she’d failed. That …

No. She wouldn’t cry. Not at work. She had too much to do and not enough time. Evidence didn’t wait for emotional breakdowns. She had no logical reason to avoid his calls, but despite the ten point conversation in her head, logic wasn’t controlling her right now. All she could see was his name flashing on her phone and the remembrance of everything perfect. Maybe it was Vegas that ruined things. But, maybe he was calling to say the dig was over and he was coming home and they’d fix what was broken. But her gut was rarely wrong and she knew, she just knew, that when they got done talking, she’d be crying for a very long time. She was tired of crying over him.

She’d never stop crying over him. God, if she’d known being in love meant this kind of heartache to go along with the joy she felt whenever she looked into his eyes, she’d have walked away years ago. But the problem was she had fallen in love with him and he knew her secrets, even the ones she’d never told him.

So instead, she just … waited. Waited and waited and waited. For her guts to match her heart. She worked and she worked and she worked. Because it was easier. Even though it wasn’t and even though he just kept calling.


End file.
